


other people's tragedies

by Aslee



Series: Kaspbrak/Hanlon 2016 [3]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Politics, Alternate Universe - The West Wing Fusion, Gen, Graphic Depiction of the Aftermath of a public shooting and political assassination, M/M, President Kaspbrak
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:54:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23182054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aslee/pseuds/Aslee
Summary: On August 20th, 2021, there was a shooting outside of an event attended by President Kaspbrak and his staff. The 24 hours that follow are long and hard.Or:The blood that had seeped through Eddie's shirt was warm and wet under Stan's touch.Unable to speak, Stan lifted his hand and stared at his stained fingers in shock. His brain, already frazzled, could not bring itself to understand. The implications did not add up. This was Eddie Kaspbrak, the world's most invincible man. There was only one thing that could hurt Eddie, and that man would rather die than watch Eddie bleed.But there was blood on Stan's hands all the same.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris
Series: Kaspbrak/Hanlon 2016 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1632049
Comments: 18
Kudos: 106





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this is my offering for the president kaspbrak au. it's been my pleasure to be a part of the council, and now i will finally be donating something of worth besides the very important fact that mayor pete was cucked by richie in the 2020 election. 
> 
> the fic will be 4 parts and will not be very long at all, and in fact i am going to try and have it done before the end of the week. 
> 
> title from my dearest oscar once again: "There is always something infinitely mean about other people’s tragedies." Lord Henry, The Picture of Dorian Gray, Chapter Four

**_stanley uris. 8/20/21. 2315._ **

"What about Adrian?" Eddie twisted in his seat as if he could still see the crowd out of the tinted back window of Cadillac One.

Stan rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to shove Eddie in front of the agent crammed into the backseat with them. He would probably get shot, after tonight, and no one would react well to another gunshot. "They got him into a car." Stan repeated the words the agent had told them not five minutes ago, when Eddie had just been staring at the whirling lights of the city like he wasn't sure where he was. "Don is with him."

"Don?" Eddie barked, like his own assistant's name was an offense to him. "Why the hell is-- What about Ben?"

"Ben isn't with him, but McCall and Ripsom--"

"Where the hell is Ben? Why isn't Ben--"

"Ben is the identifying agent, sir. They need him there," Stan said. After years, he had accepted that most of his job was repeating things Eddie already knew. Appealing to his better demons, Richie called it, but Stan had always thought of it as reminding Eddie of who he was, now.

Who he had to be.

Sure, Eddie Kaspbrak would walk into gunfire for his nephew, but President Kaspbrak couldn't.

It wasn't that Stan didn't feel sympathy for the way the job overtook men and choked the life out of them. It wasn't that Stan couldn't feel, keenly, the way Eddie yearned to be just a man once again. But America had needed a good President more than it needed a good man, and Stan wouldn't regret talking Eddie into this one more time.

Eddie didn't settle, even when he turned back, his fists clenching and unclenching on his knees. "Let me call him, then. Let me call Adrian," he demanded of the agent, who winced under the President's hard gaze.

"You can't, sir."

Stan felt himself flash cold, very afraid for what it would mean for the world if Adrian Mellon died tonight. Eddie's face was already settling into a cool anger than terrified Stan more than anything else had since Eddie had won the primary.

"Excuse me," Eddie grit out between clenched teeth.

"He's in shock, sir," the agent said, shifting in his seat. "Mr. Haggarty and the agents assigned to his detail are helping him through it, but--"

"He's probably sick, Eddie," Stan interrupted. "You know how Adrian gets."

He was a tough kid, one who took everything the world had thrown at him on the chin, but he was still a kid. One whose fear physically rattled in his lungs, panic and asthma woven together until they were one condition. It took a lot to shake him, but when you broke through that exterior, the explosion could level entire cities.

Eddie and Adrian were a lot alike that way.

Stan watched Eddie slump against the seat, swaying like a drunkard. It should have been a relief to see the tension bleed from his shoulders, but Eddie's eyes were still wide, and something about the way his gaze bounced unsettled Stan.

"What about the staff?" Eddie said after a beat. "They didn't--" Stan and the agent exchanged a look. "Fuck, Stan, is somebody dead back there?"

There was another question underneath the one Eddie said out loud, one meant for only Stan-- Is it one of us? It was no secret that the Kaspbrak campaign team had stayed close-knit, the core seven of them turning the White House into something of a family affair. It was another quirk of the Kaspbrak residency, another thing the journalists gossiped over. Even Mike Hanlon, their VP, was still close to the President's staff, choosing them time and again over his own retinue.

If they lost them, any of them, Eddie would never be the same. Neither would Stan, of course, but he wasn't the leader of the free world.

"We don't know yet," the agent said, exactly the wrong thing to say.

Eddie slammed the side of his fist against the door, shouting up to the driver. "Hey! We gotta go back there!"

"Absolutely not," Stan said, talking over the agent's own protestations. "You have to go back to the White House, sir. That's protocol."

"Fuck protocol! Our people are back there, Stan. Marsh, and-- and Denbrough-- And Richie." Eddie's voice cracked around Richie's name, and Stan understood. Eddie was worried about their friends, of course he was, but he needed Richie. Maybe it was the fact that he'd almost died, maybe it was the fact that they'd been fighting all week, but Eddie needed Richie so badly right now that Stan could see the longing reflected in his eyes.

It was familiar, a need shining there that Stan had seen more often that he cared to, but they weren't alone.

Stan clutched Eddie's knee as a reminder of where and who they were, leaning in, and that's when he noticed it. Red dripped from the corner of Eddie's mouth, thick blood drawing lines down Eddie's chin. Eddie swayed dangerously when he turned to argue, and Stan reached out on instinct to steady him. 

The blood that had seeped through Eddie's shirt was warm and wet under Stan's touch.

Unable to speak, Stan lifted his hand and stared at his stained fingers in shock. His brain, already frazzled, could not bring itself to understand. The implications did not add up. This was Eddie Kaspbrak, the world's most invincible man. There was only one thing that could hurt Eddie, and that man would rather die than watch Eddie bleed.

But there was blood on Stan's hands all the same.

The agent started yelling, words Stan couldn't comprehend filling the air, but Stan's tongue still sat dead in his throat. He lifted his gaze to meet Eddie's, and felt kinship with the feral fear he found there.

**_william denbrough. 8/20/21. 2316._ **

Bev's hands were tight on the lapels of Bill's suit, holding him in place even as he tried to rub her shoulders soothingly.

"Hey, why don't you get in the next car back to the office and lay down for a little bit, okay?" Bill suggested, frowning at the manic gleam in Bev's eyes. Blood trickled down from a small cut on Bev's head, little more than a scratch from the asphalt, but head injuries could be tricky. Losing Bev would be as terrible as losing the President.

Bev didn't seem to think so, ignoring Bill's advice to haul him closer and repeat, "Is the President dead?"

"No! He got hit, but he's conscious and lucid, which is a good sign. A great sign!" The phone call had Bill's stomach twisting in knots, but beneath the shake of Stan's voice, there was the same steadiness that had led them all to Eddie's light. Bill trusted Stan more than the ground underneath his feet.

Everything would be alright.

Breathing out slowly, Bev slumped as the tension drained from her shoulders, and she smoothed down the new wrinkles in Bill's lapels with shaking hands. "Okay," she said, trying to use the word to scoop up her thoughts. "Okay. I should go back to the White House, start preparing the press release."

He should have volunteered to go back with her and help, and normally he would have, but even with the sirens and the crowds, the night air was too quiet. One voice was missing in particular, broad and laughing and nasal, and anxiety twinged in Bill's gut. Even in the face of tragedy, it wasn't like Richie to be quiet like this. He should have been there, immediately, with them, his own crooked brand of worry pouring from him.

Richie cared about Eddie the loudest of them all, always the one picking fights and going to bat for what he thought the President needed. Not wanted, not always, but what would keep him going, the position be damned.

But he wasn't here, texting Adrian and Stan and chattering constant updates, cracking jokes about bad aim and Stormtroopers, and he should be.

Richie's missing presence felt like the hole left behind by the pit of a cherry.

"Have you seen Rich?" Bill asked, and Bev's eyebrow furrowed as she prodded at the cut on her forehead with fumbling fingers.

"He got in the car with Adrian," she mumbled, and Bill shook his head.

"No, no, that was Don. Rich…" Bill trailed off as Bev's eyes met his again. Her gaze was unfocused, and he could tell that it was taking effort to hold it steady. Even then it bounced away now and again, drifting down or to the side if Bev let herself get distracted. "Hey, don't worry about it, I'll find him. Go find a paramedic and get yourself checked out, okay?" Bill patted her shoulder before he jogged off, a little voice in his head chanting find Richie, find Richie, too late, too late.

Something coiled in Bill's chest as he pushed against the crowd, a fish against the stream. Anxiety was familiar to him in a variety of forms, but this one was special, a shard of ice in his chest that no amount of logic could dislodge. There was an odd precognition that came with the feeling, the same kind of uncanny knowledge that nothing would be the same as animals before a storm.

Bill shouted Richie's name, noticing for the first time how well it felt with Georgie's, with the dub-thump of Bill's heart. He was here, concrete under his feet, but between blinks all Bill could see was the view out of a rain-covered window and an empty street.

"Richie!" Bill saw Richie's shirt before Richie, the orange and red monstrosity that no one had been able to talk Richie out of wearing underneath his pressed black blazers. They'd given up mere months into the campaign, grateful that they'd managed to convince him to give his patterned blazers to charity.

A flash of orange beside a wall, and Bill was running, relief flooding through his bloodstream. "Rich, why didn't you answer me when--" The words died in Bill's throat when he rounded the corner.

Richie was slumped against the wall, tucked into the shadows like a dog that had dragged itself away to die. His tall, gangly form crumpled into a heap on the concrete, skin so pale he could almost blend into the stone. He looked up at Bill through cracked glasses, ineffectually clutching at the hole in his stomach, blood leaking out through his fingers.

"Rich," Bill breathed out. He tried to reach for him, tried to kneel down and pull Richie into his arms, but his body refused to follow his demands.

"Eds?" Richie's voice cracked on the name, blood dripping from his lips. The word encompassed everything, wracked with grief and pain, and Bill's heart panged with sympathy.

"He's okay, Richie, he'll be okay--"

It was the only reassurance Richie needed. The moment Bill spoke, he watched Richie's eyes roll back into his head, his body pitching forward in slow motion.

Catching Richie against his chest, Bill heard himself scream for a thousand miles away. "Ambulance! Someone's been shot!"

**_stanley uris. 8/20/21. 2325._ **

Eddie's hands clutched at Stan's arms, fingers twitching with desperation. Stan had expected the surgery to give Eddie some anxiety after years and years of avoiding doctors. There was some trauma there that Stan didn't know, it wasn't his job to know, but he wished he did now-- Maybe it would soothe the terror in Eddie's eyes a little. Richie would have known, if he was here.

That was all he could think about as Eddie trembled under his hands. Even he couldn't expect Eddie to be more than a man with a bullet hole in his side, and Richie had always been better at dealing with Eddie than Stan.

Richie should be here.

Eddie seemed to think so, too. "Let me talk to Richie," he gasped, hands scrabbling at Stan's shoulders as nurses milled about him. "Please, please--"

His voice began to border on a plea, and Stan darted a nervous look at the people that surrounded them. "Sir," Stan said, keeping his voice even. "We don't have that kind of time. You need to go into surgery."

"No, no. I don't-- I'm not going under until I can see him, Stan."

"With all due respect, Mr. President, you don't have much of a choice." Stan watched Eddie's face pale, and frowned, frustrated at himself. It was difficult, sometimes, for him to think outside the logic of his own head, even though he knew that even his own emotions didn't follow those rules. Forcing himself to breathe, Stan thought about what he would want to hear if it were him. If all he wanted in the world was to tell Patty he loved her before he died.

Comparing Richie and Eddie to his own marriage left a bitter taste in Stan's mouth-- He had done all he could to discourage their relationship from the very beginning, and, despite his reluctant acceptance of the fact that their feelings aren't going away, he still didn't approve of the idea.

But that was the President and his Deputy Chief of Staff, wasn't it? Not Richie and Eddie. Not his best friends.

With a tentative hand, Stan pushed the sweaty, matted hair off of Eddie's forehead. "Hey," he said, softly, in the voice he used to calm his daughter. "It's going to be okay, Eddie. Richie is okay. I swear, Eddie, he'll be here when you wake up."

Eddie still seemed to struggle with the idea, his throat working around the concept. "I... Stan," he said, blinking. "Stan, if I don't make it, tell Rich--"

"None of that," Stan said firmly. "You heard the doctor, this is an easy one. Tell him yourself."

Slowly, Eddie nodded, and let himself relax into the bed, his grip of Stan's sleeves loosening. Letting out a breath, Stan nodded at the nurse by Eddie's bedside. She smiled down at them both, her face warm and caring like a kindergarten teacher.

"Can you count backwards from 10 for me, Mr. President?"

**_stanley uris. 8/20/21. 2330_ **

"What?"

Stan can feel his nerve endings go dead one by one, a tingling wave of numbness down his body that only leaves behind the empty shell of his body. He could barely breathe, the outline of his lungs struggling to fill in his chest. Even his tongue felt numb, heavy behind his teeth. Nothing made sense. Nothing fit. The world was falling apart.

The agent in front of him shifted uncomfortably, but his jaw was firm, the set of his brow professional. "Deputy Chief of Staff Tozier is en route as we speak, sir. They got him into an ambulance just as the President arrived. Agents Cross and Huggins--"

Stan cut him off, his stomach churning at every word that left the man's mouth. "Tozier-- the Deputy--" The titles felt wrong in Stan's mouth for once, the formality on his tongue like wooden blocks on a slide, all clack-clack-clack, tumbling over each other. "Richie was shot?"

The agent blinked. "Yes, sir. Through the left lung." Stan sucked in a harsh breath, his own chest curling in on itself in sympathy.

"Is he--" Maybe they would be lucky, he thought, dizzily. Maybe he would be like Eddie, and it would be a scary few minutes, but an easy fix, a few stitches-- Scared to hope, Stan clamped down on his thoughts. "Is he stable?"

After a brief hesitation, the agent answered. "Unfortunately, sir, it seems that Tozier was hidden from the view of the rest of the crowd when the paramedics were doing their initial sweep. He lost quite a lot of blood, most of it pooling into the lung itself--"

"Stop," Stan said, feeling bile rise in his throat. "Stop, I-- Is that a no, agent?"

Something like sympathy filtered into the agent's eyes, breaking through years of hard training. Stan hated it. "His left bronchial pulmonary artery was punctured, and the bullet did not exit the lung." It was answer enough, even for a man who didn't know shit about medicine. Stan scrubbed at his face, feeling ages older.

"Understood, agent. You're dismissed."

The agent nodded and walked out, and Stan sank into his seat, shaky. Not Richie, his stupid, hopeful heart said. Not Richie, not Richie, not Richie... As irritating and as reckless as Richie could be, he was still Stan's best friend, the closest thing Stan had ever had to a brother. Even if everything went wrong, even if their approval ratings went down, even if they never passed another bill, even if Eddie were impeached somehow for the terrible crime of loving a man, Stan would never stop loving Richie Tozier. Loving him was woven into Stan's identity, their bond another iconic trait of the White House Chief of Staff. He was Stan Uris, and he loved his job, and his wife, and Richie Tozier.

Loved.

Past tense.

Stan felt a sob rip from his chest.

Patty found him like that, minutes later, crying into his open palms. She rushed to his side, gathering him in her arms like a child, rocking him back and forth.

"What happened?" she asked, fear threading through her voice. He could tell she was trying, though, trying so hard not to be scared for him, for Eddie. She didn't even know about Richie, yet, he thought, his heart shuddering. For a moment, he thought about lying, about carrying this terrible truth for himself but-- The weight on his chest shuddered and grew, and Stan feared it would crush him.

"Richie," Stan sobbed into the fabric of Patty's shirt. "Richie was hit."

He could feel muscles freeze around him and sobbed harder. Patty loved him, too. Their daughter loved him. So many people loved him, and if he didn't make it through this, if tomorrow there was no more Richie Tozier, then the world would ache for his loss.

No one more than Stan.

Except Eddie, he thought, idly, in the part of his brain that could still function. A moment passed, where he breathed heavily into Patty's shoulder, and the thought settled. Metastasized. Stan's blood froze and he sat up, pulling out of Patty's embrace.

"Stan?" Patty's voice was wary, and Stan wanted to reassure her, but couldn't manage to make his body behave through the dawning horror.

"I fucked up, Pat," Stan whispered.

"Oh, honey." Patty pushed his hair back, her touch comfortably cool against his flushed skin. "You can't blame yourself for this. You couldn't have known--"

"No, I--" Stan laughed at his own stupidity, his own big mouth, and the pain he'd caused with it. He hadn't known, but he should have known better. It was his job to know better. "I told Eddie that Richie would be there when he woke up. I fucking promised him that Richie would be okay, and now I might have to tell him that Richie died while he was fucking asleep."

Patty pulled him back into her arms, and the agents outside pretended they could not hear the fresh round of tears.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie remembers. Mike holds down the fort. Bill is the messenger. Bev finds comfort.

**_richard tozier. 11/14/15. 0848._ **

Stan's 'good man' is a little shit, Richie thought, watching Kaspbrak pace around their campaign office, face twitching with barely concealed rage. Unfortunately, Richie liked that in a man. He looked at Kaspbrak more than he listened to him, imagining those thin hips cradled in his broad hands, those passionate eyes staring up at him. 

The fact that the man couldn't remember his name didn't bother Richie much. Most of his partners never knew it. 

Sure, Kaspbrak was obviously straight-- Richie knew all the details of his divorce, given that it was literally his job to deal with weak points in their campaign --and Stan would literally kill him if he fucked Kaspbrak. That didn't mean he couldn't think about it. 

"You," Kaspbrak said, snapping and pointing at Richie, "The goofy lookin' one. What do you think?" 

"Goofy looking?" Bev mouthed across the room. 

"Uh." The broken desk Richie had perched himself upon wiggled underneath him as he squirmed under Kaspbrak's sudden attention. "I mean… I understand where you're coming from, sir, but I don't think you're old enough to have to worry about the opposition claiming you have dementia. Not with Bernie running, anyway." 

Kaspbrak tilted his chin up at Richie, a clear and familiar sign of defiance. Richie was suddenly glad he'd already had his files in his lap as his dick twitched in response. It definitely wasn't his fault, okay, it was all those months of jacking off to Kaspbrak's C-SPAN debates coming back to bite him. He hadn't ever planned on ever meeting the man, much less working for him. 

This was Stan's fault, if anything. 

"So you agree?" Eddie said, and his tone of voice made it clear that he thought Richie was an idiot. That was fair, Richie thought, considering the disgust only made his dick harder. 

"Hey, man, I think I stopped agreeing with anyone the third time we had this debate," Richie said, shrugging. "I get where you're both coming from, and if it were me I would probably use the name because, like, six hundred people are running for President this year and that's going to get tired real fast, but it's a name. No matter what course of action we take, the opposition is going to find fault in it." 

Bill made a noise of protest from the other side of the room, as if Richie was implying that bipartisanship rested entirely on his inability to write a speech good enough to heal human nature. Kaspbrak rolled his eyes. 

"Sorry, Rich, but are you really trying to dismantle the centuries old culture of a democratic election?" Stan's voice sent a thrill of irritation down Richie's spine, the memories of their long, drunken debates roaring to life. They should definitely do that with the staff sometime, Richie thought as he shot Stan a sharp grin. That would put the fear of God into 'em. 

"Well, why not? We're politicians; Changing things that suck is supposed to be the job description." Richie shrugged. "Okay, so, the primaries. The leftists are going to hate you because you're a Democrat. The Democrats are going to hate you because you're not an authoritarian piece of shit kissing Pelosi's scrawny white ass. Nothing we do or say is going to change that shit." 

"And after I win the nomination?" Kaspbrak asked. Richie swallowed, throat dry. He'd never wanted to suck a dick so bad in his life. 

"After you win are the Republicans, who are going to hate you for four million reasons, half of them made up. Because you modeled in college, because you aren't married, because you're too young, too bleeding heart, too what the fuck ever. Because you don't want little kids to starve on the side of the street. And yeah," Richie said, sighing. "They probably would talk shit about you being impersonal with the Republican candidate. There'll be 84 thinkpieces on the elitist left before breakfast the next day. But frankly, sir, if you do what you want, they'll talk about how unprofessional you are, and the fact you curse like a fucking sailor and look like a gay porn star isn't going to help matters." 

Kaspbrak blinked and turned to Stan, pointing in Richie's direction. "Keep him," Kaspbrak said, simply, before walking out of the room. They watched him go in shock. 

Something warm curled in Richie's chest. 

**_mike hanlon. 8/21/21. 0030._ **

"If you hug me, I'm going to cry again," Stan warned him, and Mike obediently put his arms back down at his sides. 

Mike looked as tired as Stan felt, his face ashen and haggard. It had been a long night, and with Stan, Eddie, and Richie all in the hospital, Mike had even more weight on his shoulders. Stan offered him a small, sure smile. He loved his staff, but there was no one he wanted at his side in moments like this more than Mike Hanlon. 

Stan's appreciation for Mike went beyond the public persona, the warm, broad smile, the steady counterweight to Eddie's manic energy. Sure, Mike was all endless compassion and reliability, but there was more there, too. Bev had pointed it out to Stan first, when they had been looking for running mates-- The quiet ruthlessness that lurked behind Mike's eyes. The fierce sense of protection, of possession. It came out from him more and more as Mike fit in with the rest of them, in the way Mike sat with one broad hand on Richie's back, on Bill's shoulder. 

"How is everyone holding up?" Mike asked, voice low. 

"They're both in surgery," Stan replied, ducking into the doorway with Mike. They both eyed the people milling around them, although it was all agents and military men, people on their side-- In their hearts, anyone who hadn't been on that campaign trail was an enemy. That feeling had ebbed the longer they had been in office, but with Eddie and Richie hurt, their protective instincts were in turmoil. "Bev is in her office, working on the press release. Bill and Ben--" 

"Are at the hospital," Mike said. "Yeah, Bill texted me. He says Adrian is keeping things as light as he possibly can. I know he's Eddie's nephew, but damn, he's got a lot of Rich in him." 

Stan snorted. "You mean, the incessant need to make people laugh in order to deflect from their own pain? Sure. But the yelling at the nurses thing, that's all Eddie. He just does it funnier than Eds." 

"Man, we can't take these kids anywhere." Mike's smile gentled, growing into that warm grin he held just for Stan, the one that made him feel like something special. Even after years, Stan was still a little blown away that Mike cared for him as much as he did. Patty often joked that she was worried they would run off together, to which Stan usually replied that he wasn't Richie, but their friendship had morphed into a brotherhood somewhere along the way. 

Mike knew things about Stan that no one else knew, because Mike knew things Stan could never learn how to express. They'd lived through the same things, the same long, frantic nights and dark mornings, and they'd spent a lot of time talking through them. Especially after Bowers. 

"You ready to do this, Stan?" Mike asked, his eyes sliding into the war room behind them. Nancy was waiting for them, her face already set into a stern, angry expression that Stan just knew wasn't for Eddie or Richie. She was probably already gearing up to try to convince them to start a war while Eddie was distracted. He wasn't looking forward to it; Stan got that her job was national defense, but surely the easiest way for a nation to be secure would be to stop bombing people.   
"If she tries to make this about Eddie being too soft on the Middle East or whatever the fuck," Stan said, voice grim, "I'm going to murder her in front of the press and everybody." 

"Sure, Eddie will love waking up to learn his Chief of Staff murdered a Secretary of Defense in cold blood," Mike said, laughing. "If only because he's imagined doing it himself for so long." 

Stan pressed his palm to his forehead, trying to stave off the headache he could already feel building up behind his eyes. "Well, you're in charge now, Hanlon. What's the game plan?" 

Mike shrugged, taking a purposeful step backwards into the darkened room. "We teach them not to fuck with us tonight." 

**_bill denbrough. 8/21/21. 0145._ **

Bill watched the life come back to Eddie's face by inches, the sallow pallor of his skin finally fading. The surgery had gone quickly, the doctors all remarking on how smooth the operation had been, the nurses commenting that they had all been so lucky. They were right, in a sense, Bill thought, because the President was alive, and it would have been very, very easy to lose him tonight. 

He just didn't think Eddie would see it that way. 

It was hard for him to see it that way, too, if Bill was being honest with himself. Although he had gotten very close to the President in his time as his speech writer, Richie had been his friend first-- Before the Kaspbrak campaign, before Bev and Mike and Ben. It had just been Bill, Stan, and Richie, against the world, even when they were miles apart. Working on the campaign together had felt like that was exactly where they were all meant to be, and as their little family grew larger, Bill had fooled himself into thinking that nothing would ever take them back to those lonely days. 

Tonight shook that belief, a little. 

Because losing Richie wouldn't just be losing Richie, would it? They would all lose each other, too, lose the parts of themselves that only Richie could bring out. They would lose those smiles, those fond eye-rolls, those surprised little looks of adoration. They would lose the parts of themselves that made it easy to love each other in those early days. 

Bill couldn't even imagine looking them in the eyes in a world where Richie wasn't alive.   
Maybe it was a negative way to think about things, but Bill had lost brothers before. He knew how hard it got to love your family when a part of it was missing. 

Bill's imagination had always been vivid and it was a curse, now, because he could see their future in front of him, too clear to deny it. Stan would be like his father, Bill was sure, and grow steadily colder. Nothing that could be said or done would warm him, because it wasn't Richie-- And no, it wouldn't be fair, but who could blame him? They all wanted Richie, too. Eddie wouldn't go cold, though, and somehow that would be so much worse. Too angry to be sad and too guilty to be angry, Eddie would tear himself apart in his confusion, spreading thinner and thinner until he was see-through and flimsy. That's what Bill's mother had done, anyway, and it was something she had never recovered from. The last time he had seen her, Martha Denbrough was still a ghost, rattling around in some New England estate. 

You have to be okay, Bill thought over and over, a mantra he was still repeating when Eddie's eyes blinked open blearily, squinting against the harsh hospital lights. 

When Eddie's gaze drifted to him, Bill startled a little at the focus in them, the razor-sharp Kaspbrak vigilance still present behind the fog of the drugs. Bill could feel his heart pounding in his chest like a man on trial, and more than anything he wished someone else was here. A better liar, maybe, or someone who could at least soothe Eddie back to sleep. Someone who would do better at letting the news out gently, at least. 

Literally anyone but him. 

"Bill?" Eddie asked, and Bill smiled. Well and truly drugged, then, if they were back to first names. 

"Hey, Eddie," Bill said, taking advantage of the situation. He always liked Eddie better than President Kaspbrak, even if Stan hated the habit. "Yeah, it's me. How are you feeling?" 

Eddie ignored the question, head rolling to the side with purpose as Eddie's eyebrows furrowed. He glared into the empty space as if he was trying to conjure something out of thin air. "Stan," Eddie said, sounding perturbed.

Bill laughed. "You've been out of it for awhile. He stayed as long as he could, but he had to go back to the Hill and help Mike find the guys who did this. You know how they are; They're gonna nail those guys to the wall." Eddie nodded, his face relaxing a little bit. His eyes drifted back to Bill. 

"You okay?" 

"Yeah, buddy, I'm fine. I was on the other side of the crowd, I barely even knew what was happening until it was all over. Ben's outside with Adrian and Don, by the way. They're both great now that they've had a little time to calm down. Ad's been terrorizing the nurses; You'd be so proud of him." Bill knew he was rambling, and from the suspicious glint in Eddie's eyes, he knew it too. Their gazes locked for a moment, heated, until Bill looked away, flushing. 

"Wrong?" Eddie asked, his voice rasping. Bill winced, thinking about nothing but how much it must hurt to talk with his throat bruised like that, how Bill was only making it harder by refusing to tell him what he knew. 

Still. 

"Come on, it's… Look, you should rest, Eddie. You just got out of surgery." Bill could see his mother's expectant eyes in Eddie's face, the words 'where's your brother?' echoing in the back of his head. He hated it, that he still couldn't banish those ghosts, couldn't let his moment be just what it was instead of everything that came before it, too. 

Eddie's eyes hardened. "What's wrong," he demanded, no longer a question. 

"Richie got hit, Eds," Bill said, the words tumbling out of his mouth. He hadn't meant to use the nickname, aware of how infinitely cruel it was that Richie wasn't the one here, but in his nerves Bill often forgot all decorum. 

His heart was cracking open at the confusion in Eddie's eyes, the little frown forming on his thin lips. Bill could see him struggling to put the pieces together, his mind still lagging in the swamp of the anesthetic. "Hit with what?" 

Bill wasn't sure how, exactly, he had expected Eddie to react, but the confusion broke his heart in ways that nothing else could. Eddie looked so tired and sick, sweat still matting his hear around his face, his face as pale as the sheets tucked into his armpits. 

"Eddie," Bill choked out, and watched the realization filter through the haze of the drugs. Horrified, Bill noticed that tears were in Eddie's eyes before the rest of his face could even pull itself into an expression, and he leapt up from his chair and to the bedside as Eddie struggled to sit up. "Hey, no, lay back down. You just got out of surgery, Eddie, jesus." 

"I have to-- I need--" Despite his protests, when Bill applied gentle pressure to his shoulders, Eddie fell back, exhausted. "I need to see him. Where is he? Here? Is he--" Eddie's breath stuttered, a noise in the back of his throat that Bill was generous enough to not call a sob. "God, Bill, please don't tell me he's…" 

"He's alive," Bill promised, hoping it was still true. "He got here a little after you did, it just took a little time to find him." At the strangled noise Eddie made in reaction to that piece of information, Bill decided to hurry up with the explaining. "He's been in surgery for about half an hour now." 

Eddie nodded absentmindedly, staring past Bill's shoulder as he processed. "Out soon?"

Bill winced. "The bullet didn't make it out, so he'll be under for a little longer than you were." 

"How long?" Eddie's frown was deep. "Alone?" 

"Six or seven hours they think, but-- They let Ben leave the scene, so Ben's with the hospital security detail, making sure the OR is secure. We wouldn't leave him alone, I promise. We…" Bill hesitated. He'd never said anything, not as brave about crossing that professional line as Richie was, but he knew. Eddie needed to be comforted as a man whose best friend and lover had been shot, not his subordinate. "We love Richie, too. Nothing else is going to happen to him. Not on our watch." 

Tears streaked down Eddie's cheeks as he closed his eyes, his head tilting back on the pillow. Exhaustion was taking over, Bill could tell, and with the advantage of Eddie probably not remembering this when he woke up, Bill reached out and cradled one of Eddie's hands in between his own. 

"Ben is never leaving his side again," Eddie said, sleep creeping into his voice. "Apparently he's the only competent service agent we employ." 

"Yeah?" Bill snorted, surprised to find that he, too, was crying. He'd thought he'd already cried all that he had in him. "I'll talk to the doc, see if we can wheel you upstairs to the OR and you can give him that order in person." And see Richie, Bill didn't say. 

Not that it mattered. With a gentle hum, Eddie was falling back asleep, the warm embrace of unconsciousness protecting him from the grief. 

Bill, though-- He sat with it, clutching at Eddie's hand. That was okay. 

Grief was an old friend. 

**_beverly marsh. 8/21/21. 0230._ **

Bev's temples throbbed in the syncopated beat of cameras flashing. She followed Kay out of the press room, watching the sharp toe of her shoes in a desperate attempt to keep her balance. Kay was saying something, the same updates she'd been giving after every presser all night. Bev tried to listen, clinging to the pitch of Kay's voice, but her focus slipped around her mind like jello. The pain and dizziness were all the distraction necessary, really, but grief and fear had joined the fray anyway; Bev found herself thoroughly defeated. 

Bill had told her to go home and to bed hours ago, and at times, particularly when the pain bleached her vision, Bev was inclined to listen. The guilt stopped her, however. She thought of Eddie and Richie, hurt far worse than she could even imagine. She thought of Stan and Mike, fighting their own allies in order to keep Eddie's ideals in place in his absence. She thought of her own sweet, loyal Ben, standing watch over their best friends' open body. Going home to sleep with them out there, most of them alone in some way or another, seemed like a cowardly thing to do. 

Bev had promised herself, a long time ago, that she would always be brave. 

The pain peaked suddenly, taking the edges of Bev's vision and turning them grey. Her feet stumbled, knees buckling under her weight. Bev grabbed wildly for the wall but found Kay's strong grip first. Her eyes closed as she fought the rising nausea. 

The darkness brought Kay's voice into focus, loud and too close. "That's it, Marsh," she said, although her voice was gentler than her words. It still tore at Bev's nerves. "I'm taking you to the hospital." 

"No!" Bev was shaking, and she didn't know if it was the dizziness or another oncoming panic attack. She hadn't had this many in one night since the last time Kay had been her personal detail. "God, no, not right now. There's so much work to do and I'm-- I'm fine." 

"You're concussed," Kay said, immediately. Bev forced her eyes open, squinting through the pressure in her head. "You need a CAT scan and rest." 

"I know what I need," Bev said. This wasn't her first rodeo, and they both knew it. It wasn't even the first time she'd worked through it; Bev was well-practiced at hiding pain. It was a skill she had promised Ben she would never use again, but, well-- Ben wasn't here. "And that's to help my fucking family." 

Kay frowned. "Bev, there's nothing you can do for them here. The doctors--" 

"No." Bev pulled herself back up straight and tall, focusing on making her spine unfold despite the creaking of her joints. "No, you don't get it. There is a country of people out there who are scared because a man just tried to kill my best friend. And they might-- They might have succeeded. We don't know why, and god forbid I have to look Eddie in the eyes and tell him I don't know why Richie is dead. God forbid I have to tell our people why their president is in mourning. I can't save Richie, no. But I can help the people he loves, Kay, and if that's all I can do then I'll be damned if I don't follow through." 

Bev could see the beginnings of a smile at the edge of Kay's mouth, even as she tried to keep the uniform Secret Service scowl on her face. That was why Bev had asked for Kay personally after she and Ben started dating. She hadn't often needed her own security detail, not since the restraining order had gone through, but Kay had made a point of staying close. 

'In case you need backup,' Kay had said as she put her number into Bev's phone. It was the 'backup', the implication that Bev could rescue herself, that had Bev reaching out afterwards. 

'Stop taming my guard dogs,' Eddie had groused with a small smile, and the rest was history-- Or Bev presumed it would be, anyway. She often wondered if they'd mention that in the books, or if the love in her heart for her two stalwart protectors would fade with her. 

"Fine," Kay said, pursing her lips. "But I don't have to like it." 

"Oh, feel free to complain. I know I will." Bev continued her walk back to her office, this time linking her arm through Kay's for balance. 

Kay snorted, patting her hand as she fell in step. "That day you willingly admit you're in pain is the day that I die of shock." 

"Oh, I'm not complaining about the concussion. It's more that Ben's not here to pet my hair." 

"I'll pet your hair," Kay said, winking. "Who needs a man?" 

Bev grinned, ignoring how it pulled at the cut on her forehead. She pretended to gasp, scandalized, and drawled, "My dear! What would Audra say?" 

"Probably start researching throuples, if I had to guess." 

They both dissolved into giggles, the laughter keeping the panic at bay for a few precious minutes.

**Author's Note:**

> hmu @ nixcarraway and the creator of this au @ princesdameron !!


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